Our Sons Will Be Killers
by PiwakawakaOz
Summary: On the night of the Battle of the Blackwater, the Hound accidentally says "Our sons will be killers someday" instead of "your sons". One-shot from prompt by azraelgfg.


After an Xmas break from writing, this is a small one-shot to get my hand back in the game. Prompt from **azraelgf** **g** \- Battle of the Blackwater: Sandor accidentally says, " _Our_ sons will be killers someday" instead of " _Your_ ".

The first 200 words contain quotes from GOT s2e9

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The Hound lunged at her angrily. She gasped in fright, as much from the clang of his foot landing heavily in front of her, as from his fury and the stink of blood and guts upon him. The gust of sour wine he breathed made her turn her head.

"Look at me!" He demanded, and she met his gaze.

"Stannis is a killer. The Lannisters are killers. Your father was a killer." He was leaning over her menacingly, their faces two hand-widths apart. The drawl of his words slowly driving home his point. "Your brother is a killer. _Our_ sons will be killers someday." Her eyes flashed-wide and bright, but not with the look of horror he was expecting, she seemed bemused. He brushed it aside and continued calmly. "The world is built by killers." He snorted softly, resignedly "So, you'd better get used to looking at them." Their eyes held each other's gaze.

She raised her chin. The realisation coming to her that despite his intoxication, the horror of the night, and the words of rape she had been fed by Cersei, his intent was honourable.

"You won't hurt me." She said, sniggering softly, a blush rising on her cheeks.

"What the fuck is wrong with you girl? I just told you that you will breed killers." He snarled dissatisfied.

Sansa coughed slightly, keeping her lips clenched shut, clearing her throat to speak. "No, you didn't." She said quietly as she shook her head gently, the curl on her lips returning. "You said _our sons_ will be killers." She looked him dead in the eye and added, "I knew you admired me."

His mouth fell open and he had an instant look of surprise. She'd never seen him so openly expressive. His face was normally a dark canvas, never showing his thoughts beyond anger and aggression.

"You're classic, ser." Giggling softly, she was smiling openly by now, adding the honorific knowing it would irk him, but confident he was too thrown off-kilter by his own misspoken word to chastise her for it. "How hard you pinch them, is how hard you like them. Just as a small boy playing with a girl."

His mouth flapped open and closed, but he could find no words. He straightened up to his full height.

"Don't worry, Clegane. I too admire you." She smiled.

It was his turn for his eyes to flash-wide. "What are you blathering about girl?"

"Just as I said. I admire you. You pretend my chirping bothers you, but if a man were truly bothered by it he would not hide in the shadows so often, to be able to appear at my side and listen to it. He would give a cruel _nom de plume_ , not an endearingly sweet one, and above all he would not ask for songs."

He'd regained some composure now. "But what is it you mean by _admire_ me?" He said sheepishly, in a rumble so quiet it was almost inaudible, as if spoken to himself and not her.

"I like your company. I feel secure in your presence in a way I do not feel with anyone else. I have prayed for you, as I pray for my family. I walk close to the shadows to find you. I watch you in a way that I watch no other man." The thoughts were coming to her conscience as she spoke, having never truly been aware of them herself. She caste her eyes shyly to the floor, despite the confidence she had gained from the dark, and she found herself reaching her hand out to lay it upon his forearm. It was clad in cold steel and she knew he had no hope of feeling the warmth of her touch, but she wished him to see the sincerity of her words.

He looked down upon her frail hand, the incongruity of it resting upon his brutal bloody arm not lost to him. Sansa watched him slowly reach for it, she thought to take it in his own hand, but no sooner had his fingers laid delicately over hers did he grasp cruelly and toss her hand aside.

"You know not what you speak child!" He spat vehemently.

Indignant she lifted her chin and said, "I am no child! I am a woman flowered, and you would be wise to remember it. I shall take no degradation from you!"

Her blue eyes pierced him through and he saw her childhood had indeed flown. He should not have been surprised. She had suffered much at court, toyed with by every person in power, and yet here she stood before him unbroken, unbent and still innately herself. The rose hue of her cheeks glowed despite the dark, and he was unsure if it was with anger or anticipation that the pace of her breathing had increased. Their eyes had locked too long, and he felt the weight of the moment full upon him.

Time was not on their side. He'd abandoned his post in its darkest hour, and told the King to fuck himself. Bridges were well and truly burnt, but in this moment her eyes, her lips, her words seemed more important than it all.

"Fuck it!" He mumbled and leaned down to kiss her. It was a thorough kiss, not chaste nor passionate, but left no doubt to either of them that they'd opened a door that would not be closed.

When they came up for air, he realised his hand threaded amongst the locks of her hair, and Sansa's rested warmly on his beard, fingers thrumming against his cheek.

"Are we to go north then little bird?" He asked softly.

"Yes." She replied.


End file.
